


The Ghosts that I Called

by Donna_Immaculata



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 08:50:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donna_Immaculata/pseuds/Donna_Immaculata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percy makes a wish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ghosts that I Called

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [Tea for Two](http://archiveofourown.org/works/306091). Written for the 2005 [Reversathon](http://reversathon.livejournal.com/)

_  
A wish changes nothing. A decision changes everything.   
_

 

He’d be damned if he stuck his wand up his rectum.

Percy Weasley closed the magazine, huffing with indignation. He glanced down at the glossy cover, which featured the picture of a young warlock sitting astride a Shooting Star PowerBlast ( _extra-thick handle with in-built vibrations - the broom of choice for the discerning urban warlock_ ), his wizard hat perched jauntily on top of his head, flashing his teeth in a dazzling smile. His hair was long, like Bill's, curling around his shoulders in golden waves, and his torso was gleaming like a centaur's. He was holding the broom in a firm grip with both gloved hands, and his lower arms were covered by supple-looking leather gauntlets. The wizard was sliding back and forth on the broomstick, demonstrating its power, and flexing the muscles in his arms and legs.

"The broomstick of the new generation," Percy read, "The brand new Shooting Star PowerBlast model offers more than simple means of transport. Perpetual vibrations force you to exercise the utmost in control at all times - thus exercising your muscles in-flight."

Percy knew that he should be revolted - by the young wizard's easy smile, his shameless pose, the way he was holding the broomstick as though it was a part of him - but as he was staring at the shabby copy of _Breezy Riders_ , he felt a tingle of excitement trickle across his spine and culminate in his groin.

He didn't want to do it, but his hand seemed to develop a will of its own as it opened the magazine on page twelve. Percy felt his ears burn, while his eyes devoured the words once again. He never quite managed to ignore the obscene scribbling in the margin.

Fred (or George) had written extremely lewd comments there, adorning them with surprisingly accurate sketches. Percy ignored the remarks and the suspicious blotches on the page as well as he could. When he had confiscated the magazine from his brothers, he fully intended to burn it straightaway. But what with one thing and another, he forgot, and the magazine ended up in a box with parchments and school books. He had come across it the other night while looking for an old essay on the Troll Regulation Act of 1809. That night, Percy had not thought of Penelope while "indulging"; he ended up dizzy and breathless, and fell asleep even before he could wipe clean his hand. When he woke up, his bed sheet was stuck to his fingers.

It wasn't the right thing to do - Mother had high hopes for Penelope and him for grandchildren, and after what happened to Father and Charlie, he felt that it was his duty to live up to her expectations. He had already disappointed her once, back when he hadn't believed in You-Know-Who's return two years ago.

But Percy had found himself walking to The Stag and Fairy nevertheless, where he'd had a drink and where he had met Severus Snape in a state of complete intoxication. He had taken his former professor back home and let him sleep it out, but without harbouring any indecent thoughts or expectations. The kiss had taken him by surprise. The kiss had changed everything.

The kiss was the reason why Percy was now sitting at his desk, his back straight and stiff, his skin tingling. He couldn't believe that he had consented to go to The Stag and Fairy again, that he had agreed to meet Professor Snape there, and yet - how could he not go? How could he ignore his teacher's voice? His own body's insistence?

Percy shifted uneasily in his chair and looked back on page twelve.

"...make sure you're 'empty' before indulging in intercourse with another wizard," read #7 of the _Ten Tips and Tricks for First-Time Riders_.

The incantation was easy enough and Percy was sure that he'd master it without any difficulty, but the idea of sticking his wand up there and performing a spell that would affect his intestines was more than he could bear. He had followed the other tips on the list: had shaved his testicles, showered, cleaned his penis very thoroughly, and he had cut his nails for the unlikely event that he would have to prepare Professor Snape accordingly.

Looking down at the colour photograph of two young wizards who shared a broomstick, moving lazily against each other, Percy decided that he was done with preparations. And just as the speech bubble appeared by the second wizard's mouth, reading "Ride that broom, Big Boi," Percy got up, resolutely. He walked over to his wardrobe, unfolded a pair of white underpants and pulled them on, wincing slightly as the tip of his erection got trapped under the waistband.

By the time he saw Professor Snape, his erection was long gone.

~*~

At half past eight, Percy Weasley entered the low-ceilinged room, pulling back the hood of his cloak and peering around through the thick smoke that swirled through the gloomy interior of The Stag and Fairy. He walked slowly towards the bar, ignoring the questioning looks that met him and trying to ascertain whether Professor Snape had arrived yet.

The man was nowhere in sight. Percy ordered a glass of water and then, to steady his fluttering nerves, a glass of Firewhisky. He took a seat at a table in the far corner, where he could be certain to remain hidden from view and yet able to keep an eye on the entrance.

He had just downed the Firewhisky, and pleasant warmth had begun spreading through his body, when a phrase uttered in the conversation of the wizards at the neighbouring table caught his attention.

"...Can't trust any of them, Death Eaters," sounded the low murmur. "Reformed or not - they are his in their very soul. I don't care what they say and how many high-rank wizards vouch for them. - They joined You-Know-Who for a reason, didn't they? They wanted their wishes fulfilled, didn't they? They say," he lowered his voice even more and looked around as though checking for eavesdroppers. Percy let himself melt against his seat. "They say that You-Know-Who knows terrible spells to ensure his followers' loyalty. Apparently, he makes them _crave_ , and he promises to fulfil their need, but he never does. He never does. He leaves them with the craving, and it burns their soul and consumes them, and they are never able to leave. And even if they are strong enough to fight it and break the bond, they can never overcome it completely. The craving is always there, and it aches and aches and eventually pulls them back to him."

A short pause fell, in which Percy desperately held his breath.

"But he's gone now," said another voice, a fresher, bolder than the first one. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has gone for good now."

"How do you know?" A third voice, quick and aggressive. "How do you know he's gone for good? Isn't that what they told us sixteen years ago? When he had gone after killing the Potters? Just because they say he's gone, it doesn't mean it's true. I, for my part, am not taking any of this _trial_ and _testimony_ nonsense. A poisonous toadstool doesn't change its spots, I say, and the sooner they hex all the Death Eaters into oblivion, the better. Reformed Death Eaters, hah!" He gave a short, derisive laugh that made Percy's stomach turn. " _Testifying_ against each other. No, sir, the only way to deal with that lot is to have their memories removed and throw them right into the deepest pit of prison, in my humble opinion."

Percy had heard enough. As quietly as he could, he rose to his feet and made for the door, determined to keep Professor Snape from entering the pub tonight. Professor Snape, however, was nowhere in sight. After loitering about for a few minutes longer and enduring irritated and bemused glances of passing Muggles, Percy decided to meet Professor Snape directly at Hogwarts.

He stepped around the corner into a dark alleyway, where he Disapparated with a sharp _crack_.

~*~

"Enter!" sounded Professor Snape's voice. Percy pushed open the heavy door to his office and stepped in hesitantly. He had spent the last few minutes preparing a speech to explain his sudden intrusion, but everything that had sounded like a good reason merely minutes before, now sounded silly and pathetic. His heart was beating madly somewhere behind his Adam's apple, and his mouth was very dry. The swirling sensation in his stomach made him feel as though he was about to faint.

Professor Snape was sitting at his desk, watching Percy with those fathomless black eyes of his. Percy opened his mouth but no sound came out. Seconds stretched into eternity as he was staring, transfixed, at his former teacher, whose shirt collar was unbuttoned, who was holding a cigarette between two fingers of his left hand, and whose face was white and cold and betrayed nothing.

Three candles on Professor Snape's desk were the only source of light in the room, their golden flames dancing in a soft breeze and casting eerie shadows on Snape's face, the tall cabinet behind him and the glass jars and vials on the shelves.

While Percy was trying to regain control over his frozen tongue, Snape spoke.

"What do you want, Weasley?" he said, and with each word, a thin column of smoke trailed from his mouth.

"I-" said Percy, "I- waited. Just like you said, sir."

"Waited?" Snape narrowed his eyes. "Waited for what?"

"I went to The St- that place, like you told me, and I waited..." Even as he was talking, Percy began feeling increasingly stupid. Snape had only baited him. He had not really intended to meet Percy, and he now thought Percy was a capital fool.

The expression of cold indifference on Snape's face was replaced by annoyance, and then, just as Percy expected him to strike, he suddenly looked coolly amused.

"What are you saying, Weasley?" he asked, and unpleasant smile curling his lips. "You went to that place, hoping to meet me there? You, Junior Assistant to the Minister? You, your mother's hope and pride? Hoping for a tête-à-tête with a former Death Eater? My, my, who would expect such an abyss of depravity in a Weasley."

"You never intended to meet me, sir," whispered Percy, cringing under the contemptuous, cold gaze. Snape smiled coldly and took a drag of his cigarette.

"I am a busy man, Mr Weasley," said Snape. "My time is certainly too valuable to be bestowed on ignorant young fools who don't know what they are asking for."

"I do know!" said Percy quickly, his heart racing. "I do know what-"

"So?" Snape said after a brief pause, which had occurred as Percy tried to gather his scattered thoughts. " _Are_ you asking for it?"

That was it. The moment towards which he had thought and planned the entire day, the moment he had mortally dreaded and joyfully anticipated. Snape was still sitting at his desk, his right profile illuminated by candlelight, the smoke from his cigarette coiling lazily into the air.

He didn't know _how_ he knew, but Percy was sure that Snape would not try to hold him back if he left now and that, should he leave, the incident would never be alluded to. But at the same time, he knew that if he should leave now, he would slam shut a door that he had just tentatively opened and that there would be no way back.

Snape was still watching him, his expression unreadable.

"Yes," Percy swallowed thickly. "Yes, I am asking for it."

Something seemed to melt, not only inside, but also around him. It was as though the entire office released the breath it had been holding in one gush, and it made the edges of light dance as they contracted and closed in around Snape. Snape's white face, his bare throat were the only canvas for the light in the room, which drowned in deep darkness.

Smoothly, Snape glided to his feet, and Percy gulped at the sight of the man, who, though not taller and considerably thinner than himself, could tower over him so effectively. The black eyes scrutinised him, and a word left Snape's mouth in a puff of smoke, sending a jolt to Percy's stomach.

"Strip."

Percy swallowed convulsively around his dry tongue. His knees were shaking and his stomach was reeling. His clothes dropped to the floor, layer after layer; first his cloak, then the dark blue robe he wore only on special occasions, his cravat, then the shirt, button after button after button, and then he stood there, pale and shivering, and very aware of the boniness of his knees and elbows.

Snape raised one eyebrow. "Everything."

Percy complied. With trembling fingers, he began tugging his shoelaces open, yanking at the knot in despair until it finally gave way. His ears were burning, Percy knew, and he looked up tentatively at Snape. The man stood not one foot away, and Percy became conscious that, in his crouching position, his face was on the level of Snape's crotch.

Snape swatted his hands away. "What do you think you're doing?" he snarled, taking a step back.

Percy gestured vaguely. "I... thought you'd like me to-" he said, pointing at Snape's groin.

"Do you think you are ready for that? Have learned enough to perform to my satisfaction?" As Percy shook his head, bewildered, Snape added, "Weren’t you listening to what I said? Strip, boy."

The low, silky voice slapped him like a whip. Percy jumped to his feet and pulled down his white pants, blushing at the sight of the wet spot at the front. Snape looked thoroughly amused.

"Not much going on there, is there?" He forced Percy's hand away from his crotch. Percy's face was burning, blood was pounding in his ears. His penis hung limply from the thatch of dark red hair; it seemed to Percy that it looked smaller than usual, as though it was trying to hide from that penetrating gaze.

"Well, well, well..." Snape turned on his heel with a swirl of his robe and disappeared through a door to his left. Percy remained standing in the middle of Snape's office, thoughts running madly through his head. Should he follow Snape? Had that been an invitation? Would Snape think he was a stupid little boy of he remained standing there, in the cold, draughty office, while everything indicated that bedroom activities were afoot? But Snape hadn't told him to follow, and walking into what he supposed were Snape's private quarters without an explicit invitation seemed like a very bad idea.

The slimy pickled things in jars were smirking at him maliciously, as he stood there, gooseflesh erupting all over his arms, shoulders and thighs. In the next moment, the door swung open and Snape emerged from the dark chamber. He carried a small item in his left hand. His gaze fell onto Percy, and an elegant eyebrow rose.

"Well?" Snape said. "What are you waiting for?"

"What do you mean?" said Percy, sweating and shivering at the same time. "Sir?" he added hastily.

"Get on the desk," Snape said, and if Percy had not been so scared, the sound of his former teacher's voice would have struck him as oddly warm and purring.

Slowly and clumsily, and feeling as though he had too many knees and elbows, Percy clambered onto the desk. Snape was watching him from cold eyes, tracing his mouth with one long, thin finger.

"Turn over," he said, and Percy obeyed, gulping short, sharp gasps of air around the lump in his throat. The desk was too short for him, and he ended up crouching on his knees, bending forward awkwardly. He fixed his eyes on the tall cabinet before him. One of its glass doors stood ajar. Reflected in its smooth surface, the lights from the candles were flickering. Percy saw the reflection of his own face, pale and drawn, superimposed over the jars and vials within the cabinet. Dozens of slimy pickled things, swirling slowly in greenish fluid, seemed to watch him, their eyes replacing his own in the reflection.

A cold touch to the back of his neck startled him, and then Snape's smooth voice sounded above his ear. "On your hands and knees."

His hands looked thin and bony, and very, very freckled. Percy was staring down at them intently, his head sunk. Desperate to fade out the sight of the ghastly pickled things. Desperate to fade out the feeling of cold, rough fingers dancing over his spine, down to his tailbone, and further down, down, and-

"Hold still!" This time, the voice was no longer a purr. It slapped Percy like a whip, making him jerk forward. Snape's hand was wrapped around his hip, holding him in place. "You asked, and now your request will be granted."

There was an odd edge to Snape's voice now; it sounded sharper, clippier, and Percy realised that he was being punished. Snape was punishing him for being so bold as to face him. The thought made his insides clench with sudden fear, but at the same time he felt a strange surge of power shooting through him. If Snape was punishing him, it meant that he, Percy, had managed to take the man by surprise, to startle him.

In the next moment, Snape's hand took him by surprise, sliding between his buttocks down to his testicles. Percy couldn't suppress a whimper at the touch. His freshly shaved skin felt particularly tender and vulnerable under the cold fingers.

"This is a pitiful performance, don't you think, Weasley?" Snape brushed his knuckles against the underside of Percy's limp cock. "Tell me, boy, what was your intention in coming here?"

His blood was pounding in his ears so forcefully that he was barely aware of Snape's question. Percy gritted his teeth, trying to calm his breathing.

"Well?" Snape prompted. "Tell me."

"I-" said Percy, swallowing hard. One of the candles was burning down, and its irregular, dancing light lit up the glass door in front of him momentarily. Percy could see Snape's white, impassive face reflected in it like in a mirror. For a moment, his face mingled with the face of a specimen in a tall glass jar, who grinned down at Percy, with sharp, pointy teeth and Snape's cold black eyes.

"I. Want- Would like you. To." Percy swallowed and closed his eyes, desperately.

"Yes?"

"Show me." Percy's voice had dropped to a whisper. "What is there."

"So curious. So eager," Snape muttered, tapping his fingers against Percy's cock. "Not all parts of you, that is."

It was cold, Percy thought, far, far too cold for his body to react to the touches and the silky voice and - _Snape_. But he couldn't wrap his wooden tongue around the words. He could hear them in his head, screaming to be heard, screaming so loudly that he thought Snape must hear them, too. But Snape continued to talk, and Percy concentrated hard to catch the words.

"Who would have thought that the Junior Assistant to the Minister would allow himself to become so... slack," Snape said, and Percy shivered. "Do you think that your performance so far has been adequate? Do you think that your brother William would be proud of you?"

It was as though he had received a punch in the guts. The picture of his brother, shamelessly naked, manifested itself unbidden. Bill would not crouch helplessly on the desk. Bill would sprawl out, arching his back and presenting his bare arse to the questing fingers. His red hair would gleam in the candlelight, swaying gently with each move he took. Bill would look over his shoulder at Snape, a careless, provocative grin playing around his mouth.

To his infinite mortification, Percy felt his body react to the picture he had created. A tingling, swollen sensation spread between his legs in a wave of heat, and his cock began to harden against Snape's cold skin.

"Well, well. What might it be that elicited this sudden reaction, Mr Weasley?" Snape had leaned in over Percy so that he could feel the heavy material of Snape’s robe against his bare back. Snape breathed out a lungful of cigarette smoke by his face, and Percy closed his eyes to stop them stinging. "Was it this that did it?" The words were accompanied by a very pronounced pull that made Percy’s cock ache with need. "Or was it the mention of your brother William?"

Percy felt himself become light-headed with guilt. In that moment, he hated Snape. If he could, he would whip out his wand to hex the man, but the hand between his legs, caressing lightly yet persistently, seemed to drain him of all his strength. Heat was building up in his stomach rapidly now, as though his body wanted to make up for its initial reluctance. Percy groaned deeply.

"You ask for a lot, Mr Weasley," Snape continued to purr by his ear, while his hand continued to move up and down his cock - strongly enough to block out every rational thought, but slowly enough to not let him reach fulfilment. "Wishes are granted to those who ask, but-" The hand on his cock paused, and Percy moaned, desperate for the touch. "But when the wish is granted, it often turns out differently than one expects."

The darkness in the room was pressing down on him in a heavy, inky-black mass that seeped into his brain and made it impossible to think. Despite his dizziness, Percy knew that Snape was communicating something important to him, but his mouth refused to form the words that were floating around under the surface of his consciousness.

"What are you wishing for now, boy?" Snape had dropped his voice to a whisper. "Tell me."

"Please, sir," Percy said, clutching the edge of the desk with both hands until his knuckles stood out white against his freckled skin. "Make me... Let me... Release..." he breathed the last word, equally fearing and hoping that Snape had caught it.

Only as the heat above him withdrew did he realise how close Snape had been, how the man's thin body had pressed him down onto the dark wooden surface of the desk. Percy took a deep breath that made his head spin as the cold hand resumed its stroking motions.

Snape's hand on his cock sped up, and Percy felt the heat rise from his stomach all the way up to his face, and plummet down to his groin. With a strangled cry, he pushed down into the cold grip. In the very same moment, a finger pushed roughly into him, and magical sparks exploded behind his eyelids. Percy fell.

The muscles in his arms had given way, he realised when he found himself lying on his face, his cheek pressed painfully against the hard wood. His arse was still stuck high in the air, forced into that position by the hand that held his hip in a bruising grip. Snape's other hand still rested between his legs and - Percy felt himself blush furiously - one of Snape's fingers was moving gently inside him.

"Do you think you have learned enough now to please me, Mr Weasley?" Snape's voice, sounding calm and unconcerned, ( _as though he had not just made Percy spill himself all over his hand; as though his other hand were not caressing Percy more intimately than he had ever caressed himself_ ) jerked him back to his senses. There was more to it, he could feel it. He could feel it with every fibre in his body, with each nerve end that trembled beneath Snape's touch, and he wanted it.

"No, sir," he whispered. "I haven't."

The finger withdrew, leaving Percy feeling hot and open and very vulnerable.

"But I will," he said, stretching out his aching arms and legs and rolling off the desk. "If you let me, I will."


End file.
